


Go On Till You Come to the End

by SarahJeanne



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne/pseuds/SarahJeanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things Brad is extremely good at. Relationships are not included among them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go On Till You Come to the End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the GK remix challenge with the Modest Mouse song "One Chance" as the prompt. Many, many thanks to pjvilar for her above and beyond betaing right up until the 11th hour. Title comes from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

Brad gets his first letter since he got to Georgia for Ranger School while they’re waiting for buses at the end of Mountain Phase. He smiles when he sees Becca's writing on the envelope. It feels weird to smile; he hasn't used those muscles in a while.

There are two pieces of paper inside the envelope, one in Becca's tiny, neat cursive and one covered in Dom's scrawl. He reads Becca's letter first. By the time he's done his face feels normal again and he doesn't even bother with Dom's letter. Brad has no desire to see what Dom could add on top of "I don't know you anymore" "I can't be with someone who's never here" and "I gave the ring to your mother." Not to mention the two paragraphs containing a liberal use of the word "we" that runs through a history of their relationship in more detail that Brad wants to know.

Brad's hands clench into fists, crumpling the letters. He walks across the room and drops them in the trash. He catches sight of his reflection in the window on his way back to his gear and stops to look at himself for the first time in weeks. His cheekbones stand out starkly over his sunken cheeks; his skin looks like it's just barely stretched over his skull. He has dark bags under his eyes making them look even more depressed.

He doesn't know himself anymore either.

He sits on his duffle and gets ready to jump into Florida.

\---

When he gets back to California, he goes straight to his parent's house. "God, Brad," his mother says when she opens the door—he hasn't gained all the weight back yet.

"Where is it?" His voice is hollow and sounds foreign.

"Do you want to come in for dinner?" his mother asks. "It's almost ready." The shock is gone from her voice and has been replaced with a mixture of worry and pity.

"Give me the ring," Brad says, trying not to grit his teeth.

He stays on the stoop while his mother goes into the house. She returns with the ring and drops it into his outstretched hand. "Brad," she starts.

"Thanks." He cuts her off and walks back to his bike. He takes off down the street and tries to ignore the way she looks at him from the doorway.

Brad pulls over halfway across the Coronado Bridge and only realizes what he must look like when he sees a sign with the number for a suicide hotline. He won't take long and hopes that's enough to keep from causing a scene.

He stares at the ring in the palm of his hand. It looks small and cheap, even though it took the money he made from nineteen weeks of school to buy it. In retrospect, he shouldn't be surprised she took off with someone better. He drops the ring into the water. "Bitch," he says, cringing as soon as the word is out of his mouth.

He drives back to his parents' and walks in without knocking this time. His mother looks at him like he's a grenade with the pin pulled out. "You said something about dinner?" he asks, and even he is surprised at how calm he sounds.

They eat in the living room. Brad briefly stares at the spot on the floor next to his mother's feet that's always been his. He sits in the chair across the room instead.

\---

Six months after Becca, Brad gets kidnapped by Eric, Poke, and Jim on his way to his car on a Friday. He protests, but lets it happen. "You've been moping too long, dawg," Poke says once they're settled in the car.

"I don't mope," Brad says.

Poke rolls his eyes. "Jesus," He says under his breath. "I ain't never seen someone in so much denial."

Brad leans back in his seat and stares out the window.

Eric escorts him to the bathroom in Barstow--like he's going to try to run in _Barstow_.

"Please tell me our final destination is the Barstow Wal-Mart."

Eric claps a hand on his shoulder. "If only I could."

"We're going to Vegas, aren't we?" Brad asks, resigned. He knew the minute they got onto route 15; he'd never wanted to be wrong so badly.

"That's completely possible."

"I hate all of you."

\---

Brad fucks two girls in Vegas. It's the first time he's fucked anything other than his own hand since the day before he left for Ranger school—what he now realizes was nothing more than Becca giving him one last, pathetic, pity fuck. The guys pitch in for the first one, Brad pays for the second. When they're done, both of the girls just get up and leave, though they do it nicely. Brad swore he wouldn't fall in love again, but he can't help but love this arrangement.

\---

It works for a few years. While they're stationed on the _Peleliu_ , Jim's wife threatens to divorce him until he promises to get out as soon as his contract's up. Brad grimaces and heads to shore where he fucks without worrying about his life being blackmailed away from him. The five girls he cycles through in San Diego get him through his post-Afghanistan adjustment.

He has a system. He likes his system. He really should be expecting it to fall apart.

\---

Brad unfolds himself from where he is crammed into a tiny conference room with the LT, Gunny, and the other team leaders. They've known about the Humvees for a while, spent hours getting them combat-ready, but now they've got an actual mission should this invasion ever take place. And the only thing they've been tasked with, is storming a fucking bridge in broad daylight like some flamboyant D-Day shit.

His displeasure must have shown on his face, because Fick catches up with him as he's trying to retreat down the hallway.

"Is there a problem, Brad?" Fick asks, falling into step beside him.

Brad looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "No, sir."

The LT raises his eyebrows at him.

"With all due respect, sir, I'm having a hard time understanding this plan. Why the hell are we being dropped into Humvees and barreling full speed ahead toward this bridge? This is not what Recon does."

Fick stops mid stride. "Brad, the beauty of the Corps is that our specialization comes second. First and foremost every single one of us is a rifleman and able to fight not only for our country, but also for the people of the world who can't fight for themselves." He doesn't back down from Brad's stare, just meets his gaze. He looks completely earnest, innocent, hopeful--it draws Brad right in.

"Yes, sir," Brad says, nodding his head.

"Good," Fick says. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. "See you tomorrow."

Brad watches Fick's back as he walks down the hall and knows that he's going to get trampled. He's struck by the desire to keep all the shit the world has to offer away from the LT, to protect him.

It's not a welcome thought, but it lingers nonetheless.

\---

The next time they end up in the conference room from hell, Brad ends up sitting beside the LT. They're all squashed together, in the kind of space where you don't even notice that you're touching the person you’re next to. And while that's true with Pappy on his right, his left side feels like it's on fire. The feeling doesn't fade, but it somehow still renews each time Fick shifts next to him and brushes against him somewhere new.

Brad spends the meeting watching the LT's face as he speaks; he's incredibly expressive and passionate, even as he goes over something as mundane as pre-deployment orders. And Brad is always, always aware of the fact that there's nothing but two pieces of fabric between their skin.

\---

Brad tells himself it's nothing more than an experiment when he sticks his hand down his pants and starts thinking about the LT. Fick's mouth is the first thing that pops into his head so he focuses on that. He pictures Fick's lips opening when Brad rubs his dick across his mouth, letting Brad slide his cock in. Brad thinks about how warm and wet Fick's mouth would feel and he comes.

The problem with that test is that anyone would come from thinking about getting their dick sucked. The next time, Brad imagines Fick pushing Brad down to his knees. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to have a cock in his mouth. What it would taste like to lick the LT's cock, what it would smell like to bury his face in Fick's pelvis.

He comes almost as fast as he did the first time.

He gets online and finds porn of random guys fucking. The LT doesn't cross his mind and he has to clean come off his keyboard. So much for the theory that it was just Fick.

Brad still has no problem getting off using any of the skin mags he usually buys, so he types the word "bisexual" into Google. He looks at the first page of hits and closes the browser in disgust.

He has no idea what he was looking for.

\---

When Brad finally loses control over his own brain, he blames days of no sleep, too long without a combat jack, and the way Nate fiercely fights for his men 24/7.

Brad is so completely absorbed in his watch, doing actual _recon_ , that he only half listens to Nate and the reporter talk. And he makes it a habit to never listen when Encino Man is on the radio.

Even the gunfire is nothing more than another layer of white noise until Nate's tone changes and pulls him out of his trance.

Nate tells off Schwetje and tension takes over his face in a way that is disturbingly beautiful. Brad itches to reach out to Nate when he rips the wire out of his radio. "They want me to be more aggressive," Nate spits out. "Send the men into this. For what? So I can come home with 21 men instead of 22? For what?"

"I trust your judgment, sir." It's not even close to being a good enough answer to this situation. Nate looks broken and all Brad wants to do is ditch his weapon and his uniform and everything else standing in between them.

"I can be wrong," Nate says, resigned. Brad's stomach twists at the way Nate's voice sinks. "A platoon commander's situational awareness doesn't extend very far."

Brad wants to reach out and press his fingers to Nate's cheek. Wants to wipe away three weeks worth of sweat and grime until there's nothing but soft and warm skin under his fingertips. He wants Nate to hold him in place and want him back.

Instead, Brad grips his weapon tighter. "Far enough, sir," he says, and tears his eyes away from Nate to focus on the park. He shuts down the part of his brain that thinks he could ever show any of this to Nate, that Nate would do anything other than push him away. There's nothing about this that even resembles a good idea; it's time to stop and leave it in Iraq with the rest of the shit.

\---

About half the guys are there when Brad gets to Mike's. Nate is already there, leaning against Mike's kitchen island with a beer held loosely between his fingers.

Something about seeing Nate in jeans and a t-shirt, no uniform, no bars on his collar, makes all of Brad's carefully reconstructed barriers break.

He keeps Nate in the edge of his sight line for the next hour while the rest of the guys arrive and everyone starts to get drunk enough to give Nate a proper send off. After being assailed and grilled on his post-Corps plans for the eighth time, Nate slips out of the kitchen to the deck.

Brad follows. He sits down in the chair next to Nate's. Neither of them says anything at first. They drink their beers in silence, looking from each other to Mike's back yard, and back again.

"Do me a favor, sir?" Brad asks when the pressure of Nate's eyes on him gets to be too much. "When you inevitably take over the country can you make sure the next place we invade is an island, or at least somewhere with a strategically important coastline? I'd like to dive again sometime this century."

Nate laughs. "I'll do my best."

They lapse back into silence. When Nate puts his empty beer bottle down on the table the clink is loud. Brad turns to look at Nate. Nate's sitting on the very edge of his seat, turned so his whole body is toward Brad.

"Brad," he says.

Brad's eyes lock with his. "Captain?"

"Are you," Nate starts, sounding hesitant even though his gaze doesn't waver.

The sliding door bangs open and their heads whip to the side. "Oh, captain, my captain," Ray says, loudly, from the doorway. "Your presence is requested in the living room." He steps to the side and sweeps his hand toward the house.

Nate looks at Brad, tips his head to the side, and shrugs one shoulder before walking into the house.

"Come on, Brad," Ray says. "We need you too."

Brad stands and follows Ray. It's better that he doesn't know what Nate was going to ask.

\---

Brad runs into Nate at the supermarket three days later. "Captain," he says, hiding his surprise.

"Brad."

"I thought you were out of here."

Nate picks up a box of pasta and reads something on the label before placing it in his cart. "In two weeks," he says, looking up at Brad.

"Good luck."

"You want to come over? There's a lot of alcohol in my house I have to drink before I leave." Nate shakes another box of pasta at him "I'll even make you dinner."

Every bit of Brad's brain is screaming at him that this is a terrible idea, but his stomach is twisting and feels like it's pulling him toward Nate. "Okay."

"Come by at seven?"

Brad's hands are sweaty on the cart while he finishes his shopping.

Nate has the table set when Brad gets there. There's some sort of fancy-looking pasta dish. There's also a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I was picturing bottles of cheap whiskey and Ragu, sir. This looks like we're on a date." Brad hears hope creep into his voice; he manages to only cringe inwardly.

The silence that follows is loaded. Nate takes a step forward. "Do you want it to be a date?"

Brad swallows and looks Nate in the eye. "Yes," he breathes out quietly, like he's still trying to keep it a secret.

"It's a date then." Nate eyes crinkle as he smiles at Brad.

Nate puts his hand on Brad's shoulder. All he does is steer him to the table, but Brad can feel where Nate touched him all through dinner. They go through two bottles of wine, and keep drinking even as Nate pulls out a carton of ice cream for dessert. It's easy to sit across from Nate and trade stories about college and military school and bitch about basic versus OCS.

When Nate brings the ice cream bowls to the sink, Brad follows with what's left of the wine and places the bottle on the counter.

Nate takes Brad's hand and interlaces their fingers.

Brad rubs his thumb across Nate's knuckles. "Nate," he breathes out.

Nate squeezes his hand. "I like it when you say my name," he says quietly.

"Nate," Brad says again, dropping his voice to match Nate's.

"Yeah," Nate says. He takes a step closer to Brad. "What do you want to do now?"

Brad turns so he's facing Nate instead of the counter. He closes the gap between them and kisses Nate. It's a thousand times better than anything Brad imagined.

Nate pulls back just far enough to speak. "Good choice," he whispers into Brad's mouth.

They stop talking after that.

When Brad wraps his hand around Nate's cock, for a moment it's like he's having some sort of out-of-body masturbatory experience. But then he feels that the weight is wrong, Nate's cock is shorter and thicker, and he's not circumcised. That's when it hits him that he's actually doing this, getting off with another man, getting off with Nate.

When he stops to think about it—actually stops the movement of his hand—he's not sure what's weirder, that he's doing this with a guy, or that there's no money involved. Both feel foreign. Both feel scary. Both feel good.

Nate feels good.

They end up rutting against each other, Nate's hand wrapped around both of their dicks. Brad closes his eyes and gives himself over to the feeling of Nate fingers on him, of the smooth skin of Nate's shaft under his finger tips when he moves his hand down to join Nate's, of Nate's cock-head rubbing against his and their pre-come mixing together.

Nate mouth is on his neck, just touching his skin over and over, like kissing is too much for Nate to handle right now. Nate tips his head up and catches Brad's earlobe between his teeth; Brad groans.

"Brad," Nate says right into his ear, " _Brad_."

"Nate." Brad lifts his free hand to Nate's cheek and turns him so he can kiss Nate. He sucks on Nate's lower lip and then slides his tongue into Nate's mouth. Nate moans and speeds the movement of his hand until he comes, across his hand and onto Brad's stomach. Brad takes his hand off Nate's cheek and draws his fingers through the come. Brad comes with a final, murmured "Nate," staring at his white-streaked fingers with Nate's blissed-out face in the background.

\---

Brad leaves in the morning before Nate wakes up. He's not surprised when his phone rings an hour later.

"Nate," he says when he answers. He's playing with fire, but he can't stop himself.

"You left," Nate says, sounding confused and a little hurt.

Brad lets his head fall back against his chair. "You're leaving in two weeks. Then I'm leaving in two months."

"Your point?"

"We had one great night. Let's leave it at that."

"Brad." He sounds like they're back in Iraq.

"Please, Nate."

"I'm going to miss you," he says. It's a challenge.

"You'll get over it."

"What if I don't want to get over it?"

"Good luck, Nate."

Nate sighs. "You too, Brad."

\---

In England, a couple of the guys Brad's working with get him hooked up with Kristine. Her hair is dark but her skin is pale and her eyes are blue; gorgeous and she fucks with enthusiasm. She's probably about forty, but when Brad asks she says she's twenty-eight. Brad snorts at that, he can't stop himself. "Yeah, and your real name is Kristine."

She turns around to point a finger at him, her shirt only half on. "And don't think you'll get me to waiver on either of those facts for a second," she says cheekily.

Brad laughs and adds another twenty pounds to the pile on the table for sheer spunk. He saves her phone number and calls her again after the next email from Nate.

It's not that it's hard to say goodbye to her when Brad's getting ready to go back to the States, but when she's leaving his place for the last time, Brad realizes it’s the end of the longest relationship he's had in years.

\---

Brad's been back for three months when Nate shows up at his door. It's been two and a half years with nothing but emails, but Nate still looks exactly like the picture in Brad's head.

"Nate," Brad says, standing aside so Nate can walk in the door.

"Brad." Nate stops just inside the door and leans against the back of the couch.

"Beer?" Brad offers. Nate nods and follows Brad through the kitchen, where he grabs two bottles, and into the back yard.

Nate still doesn't say anything when they sit down in the lawn chairs. He tips his head back and takes a long drink of his beer while Brad watches his neck. "You're going to make me ask," Brad says, once Nate has righted himself.

"I had a job interview."

"Oh?"

"Actually, I have a job offer."

"Returning in triumph?"

Nate looks at the ground and shakes his head, but smiles. "Considering it."

"The weather's better."

"You're here."

Brad swallows and stares fixedly over Nate's shoulder. "Not always. I'll have to leave again eventually."

"I know," Nate says. "I don't care." He stands and paces in a circle before coming to a stop facing Brad. "I agree that starting anything two years ago probably wouldn't have gone well, but if we're both here we can at least try."

Nate takes Brad's hand and pulls him out of his chair. He leans in slowly to kiss Brad, like he he's giving Brad a chance to run. Brad's pretty sure he does want to run, push off of Nate and sprint until he gets to the ocean where it's not personal if the waves slam you into the sand.

Then Nate's lips are on his and all Brad wants to do is hold on as long as he can.

Even if he can't have forever, he can have now.

Brad leans against Nate, curls his fingers around Nate's biceps and stops just short of moaning into Nate's mouth. Nate breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Brad's. "Can we go inside? Can we try?"

"Yeah," Brad says, "let's go inside."

\---

They fuck regularly, sometimes at Brad's place, sometimes at Nate's. Usually dinner is involved. Brad gets drunk while they watch the Padres beat the Rockies and blows Nate on the side of the road on the way home. When Nate grabs a folder from his briefcase and brings it to bed, Brad plays devil's advocate to whatever he's working on until the folder is on the floor and they're tangled in the sheets fighting to be on top. Brad bitches about work and leaves how much better it was when Nate was there left unsaid.

They never name it.

\---

"Jesus fuck, Brad."

Brad pulls his mouth off of Nate's balls. "You like that?" He crooks the fingers he has up Nate's ass and is rewarded with a jerk of Nate's hips. He lowers his head again and licks up the length of Nate's cock.

Nate's hand comes to rest on top of his head. "Never stop touching me."

Brad sucks the head of Nate's cock into his mouth in response. He slowly pulls his fingers out of Nate, then thrusts them back in. "You want my cock in you?"

Nate's breathing is heavy. "Yeah."

"I gotta be inside you," Brad says, kissing down the inside of Nate's thigh. “I want to feel you around me."

When Brad slides into Nate, it's like being home.

After he tosses the condom, Brad crawls across the bed and lies with his head on Nate's shoulder. It's painful; he knows what's coming next.

They lie together for a few minutes, with Nate's fingers running up and down his arm, but then Brad presses his palm against Nate's chest and rolls off of him. "I'm deploying tomorrow," he says to the ceiling.

Nate's body goes rigid next to him. "How long have you known?"

"Four days." Brad reluctantly turns his head toward Nate.

Nate sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He twists around to look at Brad. "And you're just telling me now?"

"I've been busy." It sounds even more pathetic out loud than it did in his head.

Nate turns his back to Brad. "I don't even know what to say to you." He's so quiet Brad can barely hear him. He stands up and walks out of the room.

Brad stares at the ceiling for half an hour until Nate comes back stands in the doorway, arms folded. He's wearing clothes now, his shirt and Brad's shorts, that he must have gotten out of the dryer.

"I know this will be painful for you," Nate says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "but can we just fucking talk?"

Brad gets up. "Say whatever you want." He pulls a pair of briefs out of his dresser and puts them on.

Nate sighs so loud it sounds like he's been saving it up since he appeared at Brad's door eight months ago. "I want _you_ to say something, Brad. Would you even have told me if I didn't come over tonight, or would I have showed up tomorrow and you'd be gone?"

"I was always planning to tell you tonight." Nate is silent. "I just wanted to enjoy these last few days."

Nate sighs again, but he walks into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. "Why do you say that like it's the last days of our relationship?"

"I'm leaving for at least seven months. And we both know it's probably going to be longer. I don't expect you to wait."

Nate turns on the bed so he's facing Brad. He crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, looks Brad right in the eye.

"You don't trust me to wait," he says matter-of-factly.

"I'm realistic."

"Do you realize I moved across the country because you said we could take a shot at this?" Nate motions between them.

Brad sinks onto the bed, back to Nate, feet firmly planted on the floor. He tries to dig his toes into the wood, to ground himself.

"I've had promises made to me before," he says carefully. "They didn't last."

"I know," Nate says. He sounds as hurt as Brad. "But this is a different situation."

"It feels the same."

They're silent. A car drives by. The neighbors' dog starts to bark. Nate takes in an audible breath. "Will it help if I promise I'm not going to cheat on you with Ray?"

Brad relaxes his face into a smile and he turns around to face Nate. "I think it will make Ray feel better."

Nate smiles back at him and for one moment Brad can breathe again. But then the smile falls off Nate's face and he's just on the edge of that broken look Brad knows too well. "I don’t know what else to do to make this feel different for you." Nate reaches out and places his hand on Brad's knee. Brad automatically puts his hand on top of Nate's. "At some point you just have to believe."

Brad stares at their hands, plays with Nate's fingers. "You're always going to come in second. The Corps will always be first."

"I know that. Your devotion to the Corps even when everything's going to shit, that's part of what's attractive about you--you have this selfless, unconditional love for this wholly imperfect institution."

"You make it sound so noble. It's just…it's what I do."

"You are noble. But you're also a little fucked up."

"I'm not going to argue with you about the second part."

Nate sighs. "So if you know it, can you do something about it? Maybe start with believing that I'll be here when you get back?"

Brad stops stroking Nate's fingers and puts his hand firmly on top of Nate's, pushing Nate's hand against his thigh. "I am trying to believe you. I want to believe that this will work."

Nate's fingers curl against his leg. "Why?"

"Why?" Brad repeats, looking up at Nate.

"Yes." Nate's eyes lock onto Brad's like he's trying to look right into Brad's head. "Why do you want us to work?"

Brad tears his eyes away from Nate. He drops his gaze to his lap then looks back up and ends up focusing on the wall over Nate's shoulder. He turns Nate's hand over so he can interlace their fingers. "Knowing you'll be here gets me through the bad days."

Nate tips his head to the side so he's in Brad's line of sight. "So do that. Know that I'll be here and use that to get through the next however many months."

Brad slowly brings his head center and Nate straightens. "Okay," Brad says.

"Okay?" Nate raises his eyebrows. "That easy?"

"It's easy for both of us this time, but what about the next?"

Nate doesn't say anything but breaks into a huge smile.

"What?" Brad asks, even as he smiles back reflexively.

"You're talking like we'll be together for the next deployment."

Brad eases his hand away from Nate's and looks at the ceiling. "Can we just take it one day at a time when I get back?"

"Yeah," Nate says, softer. He lies down and tugs on Brad's arm to get him to follow. He rests his palm on Brad's chest. "We can do that."

Brad closes his eyes and focuses on making Nate's hand rise and fall evenly with each breath. He feels the click when Nate's breathing matches his own. He savors the way they are completely in sync with each other and forgets about the future for one, last moment.


End file.
